Lora turned on her side, watching him from the warmth beneath the quilts.
“Is it going well?” she asked. From the first she had found Wade entering into the spirit of secrecy that bound the Circle and its doings. He seldom talked of what went on at Morgan’s. Thus she took care never to ask a pointed question, but only those of a general sort which would reveal her interest without making her seem to pry.
“We’ve had wonderful news from the Middle West,” he said. “Norwood has received a report of the draft being stopped in several sections, or at least so successfully resisted that it has been postponed.”
“I hope this is managed without violence,” Lora said anxiously.
“There’s been none to speak of, I believe. Of course one can’t make that absolutely sure. The human element is too uncertain. But Norwood assures us there will be no armed revolt, if that is what you mean. Often a quiet show of force is all that is necessary. And desertions are on the increase all the time.”
Lora lay quiet, wishing she might ask more direct questions, obtain details which would quiet her doubts, and enable her to better understand what was happening.
Wade changed the subject carelessly, as if he might have said too much. “Adam is down with another bout of fever. I stopped in to talk to him tonight, but he was in bed with his shivers and sweats, and much too miserable to discuss politics.”
“You aren’t planning to draw Adam into this, are you?” Lora asked uneasily.
“Why not? He can’t be any lover of war after what he’s gone through in prison.”
She turned beneath the covers. “I’ve heard him storm about the way men aren’t enlisting. And I think he’d like to shoot every deserter. He seems bitterly intent on winning the war on the Union side. It might be just as well not to talk to him about these things. He could cause you trouble if he liked.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Wade stared into the fire again for a space of time, lost in his own thoughts.
“How is Morgan?” Lora asked cautiously.
“Raging mad tonight,” said Wade. “Mad as any spoiled child who has lost a toy. That colored girl, Rebecca, has run away.”
Lora sat up in bed. “Oh, Wade! The poor thing! Though you can’t say she’s run away when she’s perfectly free to come and go as she pleases.”
“But she hasn’t done that. She hasn’t given notice and left her job properly. She has simply disappeared. Into thin air. She must have sneaked away at night because her room hasn’t even been slept in. Morgan didn’t know she’d gone till she started to ring for her the next morning.”
Lora sighed. “Morgan must have driven her into a corner to make her go. Did you know that the girl was working there because Morgan said she’d let her buy freedom for Rebecca’s mother and little sister?”
“Sounds like Morgan,” Wade said dryly. “No, I didn’t know that. But the mother and sister are free now anyway, if they want to be free.”
“I told Rebecca that. But she felt it didn’t mean anything. And perhaps it doesn’t unless there is still some way to get through Southern lines and escape to the North. I wonder where she’s gone.”
“If she has any money she could go anywhere, I suppose.”
“I don’t think she’ll want to spend it on herself. She’ll be trying to find some way to get her family up here. Now I wish I’d tried to take a real stand with Morgan.”
Wade turned from the blaze so that he could look toward her shadowy corner. “You? Take a stand with Morgan? What do you mean?”
She told him then what she had held back till now—the story of what had happened in John’s cottage on the hill, of Morgan’s rage and of the way she herself had been helpless to do anything but walk out.
When she was through, Wade came over to sit on the edge of the bed, where he could see her better. “What a stormy petrel you are! Always out in the middle of the gale, stirring things up. I haven’t held it against you that you wouldn’t listen to me and must go to Morgan’s anyway. But now you’ve raised the sort of rumpus that is sure to occur if anyone crosses her. Let her alone—stay away from her.”
Lora pulled the covers up to her chin and looked at him rebelliously over the edge of the quilt. “You’re blaming me for what happened. That isn’t fair!”
“Nevertheless,” he said, “if you hadn’t climbed the hill to talk to Rebecca, none of this would have happened. You could simply have given the earring to Ambrose and he’d have returned it quietly. You’d not have stirred up this hornets’ nest.”
His words seemed to her the last straw. “I’m not afraid of Morgan,” she said, “even if you are.”
She could sense the stillness of him, the angry tightening. She could have bitten her tongue for speaking so pettishly, but the way people catered to Morgan made her furious. Someone had to show the woman that she couldn’t ride roughshod over those who were weaker than she.
“Why should I be afraid of Morgan?” Wade asked coldly.
There was no turning back now. He was already angry, so perhaps this was the time to go ahead, to step boldly into the dark labyrinth.
“I’m not quite sure why you’re afraid of her,” she said. “Jemmy calls her Morgan Le Fay and says she’s like that plotting queen. And of course there are those who say she has always wanted you and that she’d cheat and lie and steal to get you.”
He put a hand upon her shoulder, pushing her back against the pillow. “What are you talking about? Say what you mean!”
“There was a time something happened,” she said, not moving, though his fingers hurt her shoulder. “A time I don’t understand—up there in the woods. Perhaps it isn’t true at all. Perhaps it’s just one of those stories that go around. About you and Morgan.”
His fingers tightened. “Jemmy? Jemmy’s been telling that beastly story again?”
“Then it’s not true?”
He let her go and turned away. For a long moment the only movement in the room was firelight flickering on the ceiling. Then he got up and went toward the door without speaking.
Lora slipped out of bed, her long braid swinging against her back as she hurried across the room. She stepped between Wade and the door, her shoulders against it, pity and understanding welling up in her. Now—now she was beginning to see all the sad, ugly pattern.
“So that’s why you turn away from Jemmy? Because he told his mother and because you think Virginia … But it isn’t true, Wade! I don’t believe it! Virginia knew her sister. She’d have forgiven you for whatever happened. I think she’d have forgiven you for anything.”
“It wasn’t a matter of forgiving.” His tone was so low that Lora could barely catch the words. “She wanted me to have whatever I wanted most in life. If she came to believe—it was just the sort of thing she would have done.”
Lora put her hand across his mouth. “No! You mustn’t say it. You mustn’t think it. And you mustn’t go on blaming Jemmy for something he did so innocently.”
He drew away from her hand. “I blame only myself. But when I look at the boy I remember. Now, if you’ll let me by—”
For the first time she understood fully his inner torment, which was so much worse than she had imagined. It was one thing to suffer the tragic loss of a dear one, but something far worse if you carried as well a sense of guilt about her death.
She wished she might fling her arms about his neck, cling to him, try to heal and comfort by the very nearness of her body. Perhaps even dispel the doubt and confusion that was part of her own being at times with the physical reality of caresses. But she would not play Morgan’s role. She slipped away from the door and ran barefooted back to her bed.
Once again warm beneath the covers, she held her breath as he went out, heard him close her door, go softly down the hall. She listened intently as another door opened, closed again, and only then did she relax in relief. It was his own door, not Virginia’s.
She overslept the next morning. When she opened her eyes bright April sunshine b
urnished the windowpanes, birds proclaimed the day, and the air was alive with the tingle of spring.
She yawned widely and stretched to her very fingertips. Last night’s unhappy ending reached out to possess her mind, but she would have none of it. Today she would laugh at Wade if he gloomed, tease Jemmy lovingly, coax a smile from Mother Tyler. And right after breakfast she would go to see Serena, taking along a basket of fruit for poor Adam at the same time. Serena might help her in the matter of Rebecca.
Unfortunately her brave plans began to go awry almost at once. She came downstairs in her new gown of dove gray, to find Mrs. Tyler and Jemmy already at breakfast. The boy was not eating, and his grandmother was obviously in a towering dudgeon.
“I am sorry to be late,” Lora apologized, slipping into her place. “Has Wade overslept too?”
Jemmy threw her a tragic look and began to fiddle with his porridge spoon.
“Eat!” said his grandmother, and Jemmy forced the spoon to quivering lips.
“Has something happened?” Lora asked. “Where is Wade?”
“That,” said Mrs. Tyler coldly, “is what I should like to know. My son has never turned against me with thoughts he would not share until you came into this house, Lora. Perhaps you had better tell me where it is that he goes in the evening and why he is so often out of the house all day long.”
“He doesn’t tell me either,” Lora said mildly. “I believe he is working on some effort that has to do with the war. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“I have no wish to pry,” said the old lady inconsistently. “At least he has come to his senses about one thing this morning.”
Jemmy’s mouth trembled uncontrollably. He set down his spoon and ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Mrs. Tyler began an indignant complaint, but Lora did not stay to listen. She set her napkin down with a hasty “Excuse me,” and hurried after Jemmy.
Sure enough, he was being sick in his slop pail. She held his head gently, supported his small convulsed body until he was quiet again. Then she helped him to the bed, drew off his shoes, and pulled the quilt over him.
“No school today,” she said cheerfully. “But it’s too beautiful a day to stay inside. So get well fast. This afternoon I’ll show you a wonderful reading place I’ve found outdoors. We’ll take some books and blankets and go there. A secret place just for us.”
“I don’t want to,” Jemmy said. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
She sat on the bed beside him and patted his hand, noting that the bones no longer stood out so clearly beneath the fine-grained skin. Jemmy had been eating well in the past few months.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, “if you’d rather not talk about it. But it would make it easier for me to help if you could tell me what happened.”
He blinked to hold back the tears, his forehead still moist with cold sweat. She reached out to wipe his face and then left the handkerchief in his hand.
“It’s Hamlin,” he said after a futile effort to stop his tears. “Papa says he has to go. This morning Ellie must have left Grandmother’s sitting-room door open and Hamlin got in there before I was up. I guess it was a new place for him because he’s never allowed there, and he must have thought it was fun. He didn’t mean to do anything bad, Lorie.”
Jemmy gulped and Lora patted his arm gently.
“One of those shawls you and Papa gave Grandmother for Christmas was on a chair and Hamlin dragged it down and played with it all over the room. He chewed a hole in it and tore it in some other places. Grandmother heard him and rang and rang her bell, but Ellie was busy in the kitchen and she didn’t come right away. And then I heard the ringing and the barking and I came running down, right after Papa.”
He choked back a sob and went on. “Grandmother was furious when she saw her blue shawl and she said Hamlin would have to go. I tried to explain that he didn’t know any better because he is a very young dog. But—but Papa wouldn’t listen. He looked so queer and angry. He said this was enough and Grandmother was right. He—he called Peter in and told him to take Ham out and get rid of him—to give him away at once.”
Lora held the small hand tightly. “And then what happened?”
He sat up in bed to tell her despairingly. “I—fought Peter when he came in. And when Papa held me I—I kicked him, and I bit him on the hand. But he didn’t do anything to me. He just looked at me in the most awful way and said I’d done more damage in my life than I’d ever realize. Then he told Grandmother he was going out and he didn’t even stay for breakfast. Lorie—what did he mean? Did he mean my mother and—the turtles?”
“No darling,” she said quickly. “Of course he didn’t mean that.”
“I’d rather have him thrash me than look at me the way he did.”
She held him close, and for once he did not rebel at the embrace, but sobbed with his face against her neck, words still spilling out.
“Don’t let them take Hamlin! He’s my family, Lorie. He’s all I’ve got. The Union doesn’t sell families away, like the South does with slaves. Lorie, you will help me?”
“Of course I’ll help you,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. “You’ve got me, you know. And you’ve got your papa. All mothers and fathers get cross with their children sometimes, and sometimes the children get cross at them too.”
“It’s not like that!” cried Jemmy knowingly. “He hates me. I know he does. And I hate him too!”
She could feel anger tightening in him, pulling him taut. Gently she pushed him back upon his pillow.
“You can’t help me if you keep this up. And I’ll need your help if we’re to save Hamlin.”
He quieted a little and stared at her darkly, not daring to hope.
“First I’ll have to talk to Peter. But I can’t do anything unless you stop crying and try to get a nap. Never mind school today. You just rest now. And this afternoon we’ll go out to that place I mentioned. We’ll talk about what can be done. Make plans. We’ll work things out somehow, Jemmy. You know I’ll stand by you.”
Crooked over the top bar of his bed hung the wishbone Lora had put in Jemmy’s stocking for Christmas, its red bow still gay. She reached for it on sudden impulse and held it out to him.
“Here! Now’s the time for a wish.”
He hesitated a moment and then took one end of the bone. They both wished silently and Lora gave the signal to pull. The larger half came away in her fingers and Jemmy’s tears started again.
“You see—I won’t get my wish! It’s no use, Lorie.”
She laughed out loud, surprising him. “What if I wished the same thing you did? So either way you couldn’t lose?”
Such trickery caught his fancy and he managed a smile, relaxing a little. Now he made no protest when she tucked the covers around him, or when she opened the window wide to let in the warm smell of spring. She left his door ajar as she went out, so she might hear if he called. Then she went down to breakfast.
It was a relief to find that Mother Tyler had finished and had been wheeled back to her sitting room. When she had eaten, Lora went in briefly to let her know that Jemmy would stay in bed this morning, and that she was going to take some fruit to Adam Hume, who was down with fever again.
There was a gleam in the deep-set eyes as the old woman regarded her. “Have you seen what that dog has done?” She reached for the ragged shawl from the table next to her.
“Yes, I know,” Lora said. “I’m very sorry. But I think Jemmy is being torn much more seriously than your shawl, and I think he is more important. Now I must get Ellie to help me with a basket for Adam, and—”
“Fortunately my son does not place my feelings so low on the scale of his consideration,” Mrs. Tyler broke in. “He has ordered Peter to get rid of the dog. Something which should have been done long ago. What I can’t understand is how he can be visiting Morgan’s house these days, as Ellie tells me he is. He knows how dangerous and destructive she can be.”
; “It is a political matter,” Lora said.
“Morgan’s main interest is not in politics and never was. I had thought he would be on guard against her all the rest of his life after her wicked attack on me.”
Lora had started toward the door, but now she turned back quickly and saw the gleam of triumph in the old woman’s eyes.
“So you don’t know what happened?” Mother Tyler snapped. “Well, I shall tell you now so that you will be more careful in your association with this dreadful woman. It happened years ago when Ambrose and his wife were working for me. They had gone away for the day and I went out to their quarters to speak to Morgan.”
She paused dramatically, watching Lora, knowing well she had her full attention.
“I went to tell her that under no circumstances would I permit my son to marry her. And if he did I would disinherit him. Morgan was curling her hair at the time and she became livid with rage. She snatched up the curling iron from the spirit flame where it was heating and attacked me with it. She would have struck me in the face with the hot iron if I hadn’t flung up my hand to save myself. I must have screamed when the iron burned me across the palm and Virginia, who was outside, ran to fetch Wade.”
Lora listened in shocked silence. Mrs. Tyler turned her right-hand palm up and shuddered as she traced the place where the iron must have burned across the flesh. When she looked at Lora again the gleam was more intense than ever.
“You can understand that my son would not marry a girl capable of so vicious an act.”
“Yes,” Lora murmured. “I can understand.”
Mrs. Tyler sighed and closed her hand. “What I did not see was that Wade, horrified by Morgan’s behavior, would turn for comfort to Virginia, who was only waiting to enfold him in her gentleness and love. But at least I hope I have made it clear to you that my son will never turn against me, as you have tried to turn him.”
Lora said nothing. She slipped out of the room and went into the kitchen, still shaken by the story she had heard. All this was in full character for Morgan. In these sudden violent rages to which she was prone, she was quite capable of doing physical harm. Rebecca was better off away.
The Quicksilver Pool Page 24